Red Cap Tales, Stolen from the Treasure Chest of the Wizard of the NorthScott, Walter
General
Red Cap Tales, Stolen from the Treasure Chest of the Wizard of the North
Scott, Walter
Scott, Walter, 1771-1832 -- Adaptations
WAVERLEY
_Facing page_
2 In an instant his red cap was off and he was
bowing and saluting . . . with . . . extravagant gestures 20
3 So fierce was the attack . . . made on Edward, that the
young man was compelled to draw his pistol 66
4 Rose Bradwardine . . . watched him with a sigh on her lip
and colour on her cheek 84
5 "Vich Ian Vohr," it said in a dreadful voice, "beware of
to-morrow" 102
GUY MANNERING
6 "Ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowan," she cried 136
7 He would stand there transfixed . . . till a serving-maid
pulled his skirts to tell him dinner was waiting 150
8 He saw his late companion . . . engaged in deadly combat
with a couple of rascals 154
9 Hazlewood snatched the gun from the servant and haughtily
ordered Brown to stand back and not to alarm the lady 170
ROB ROY
10 He took the lantern . . . and holding it up, proceeded to
examine the stern, set countenance of Frank's guide 256
11 The fight between Frank and Rashleigh 266
12 "Stand!" she cried, . . . "and tell me what you seek in
Macgregor's country" 278
13 The girl's face, perhaps not altogether unintentionally,
touched that of Frank Osbaldistone 300
THE ANTIQUARY
14 "Turn back! Turn back!" he cried 344
15 Dousterswivel flung himself on his knees 375
16 He lighted his beacon accordingly 410
RED CAP TALES
CERTAIN SMALL PHARAOHS THAT KNEW NOT JOSEPH
IT was all Sweetheart's fault, and this is how it came about.
She and I were at Dryburgh Abbey, sitting quietly on a rustic seat, and
looking toward the aisle in which slept the Great Dead. The long
expected had happened, and we had made pilgrimage to our Mecca. Yet, in
spite of the still beauty of the June day, I could see that a shadow lay
upon our Sweetheart's brow.
"Oh, I know he was great," she burst out at last, "and what you read me
out of the _Life_ was nice. I like hearing about Sir Walter--but--"
I knew what was coming.
"But what?" I said, looking severely at the ground, so that I might be
able to harden my heart against the pathos of Sweetheart's expression.
"But--I can't read the novels--indeed I can't. I have tried _Waverley_
at least twenty times. And as for _Rob Roy_--"
Even the multiplication table failed here, and at this, variously
a-sprawl on the turf beneath, the smaller fry giggled.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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